


équinoxe

by MelanijaParadis



Series: The Triquetra Four [1]
Category: Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Autumn, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Breaking the Third Wall, Crispgate references, Dessert & Sweets, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family Dinners, Glamour powder, Invisible staircase references, Menstrual Sex, Menstruation, Period sex blood magic, Road Trips, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Dancing, That Red Dress, Vermont, hygge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26552983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanijaParadis/pseuds/MelanijaParadis
Summary: Harry and Macy travel undercover to équinoxe, a Vermont resort, in time for the mid-September Autumnal Equinox to solve a perplexing mystery involving a crop of apples.
Relationships: Harry Greenwood & Macy Vaughn, Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn, Jordan Chase/Maggie Vera
Series: The Triquetra Four [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952074
Comments: 12
Kudos: 11





	1. The Agriculturalist

1 The Agriculturalist

_Saturday Afternoon, Early September, Front Door, Vera Manor_

“This is the residence of the three Charmed Ones,” the stranger stated matter-of-factly. It wasn’t a question. Not to him, at least, as he shifted his weight, carrying a liter-sized burlap sack of undetermined origin.

Harry glanced past the Vera Manor threshold at the burly older man who sported a thick plaid shirt and denim coveralls. _And was that a silver pitchfork? Oh for heaven’s sakes._ He felt a hand tap his shoulder from behind. _Macy._

“Yes,” Macy finally answered. “I’m one of the three—"

“ _Four,”_ Harry muttered under his breath as Macy gestured the older man to enter the living room. Macy and the plaid gentleman stared at him. “Honorary sister, remember?” he pointed to himself, recalling a conversation a couple of years ago in which Maggie, the youngest, booped him on the head during her ‘in-house’ sorority-esque initiation. Macy rolled her eyes. _Oh, fine then,_ he thought to himself as he closed the front door and followed the pair to the other room.

_Living Room, Vera Manor_

“So, uh, what brings you here?” Macy asked the stranger, who seemed to be dressed like—a farmer? “Please, sit—make yourself comfortable—”

“No, it’ll only take a minute,” he responded in a gravelly voice, setting his burlap sack against the coffee table as Macy and Harry exchanged puzzled glances. “My name’s—”

“ _Earl Nox?”_ Macy and Harry turned around to stare at Maggie, who looked as though she had seen a ghost.

The man nodded. “I see my fame precedes me—”

“Whatever do you mean? No offense—” Harry began, looking at both Maggie and Earl.

“He’s one of the two Nox brothers! They make the best ASMR orchard vids every fall! Their TikTok clips are legendary!” Maggie exclaimed, leaping past the last rung of the Vera Manor staircase, sitting next to Macy mere moments later.

“Correct,” Earl said succinctly. “My brother Eli and I are apple farmers in Stowe, Vermont with our own bed-and-breakfast resort, équinoxe. We host an apple festival every September Equinox, but our recent apple crop’s gone bad so we’ve had to cancel it. We’d be ruined it weren’t for the resort and bonfire festivities. Could use your help.”

“I sympathize, I really do,” interjected Harry, “but what’s your wonky crop got to do with us?” He ignored Macy kicking him under the table and continued. “I mean, shouldn’t you consult with a horticulturalist? An apple…specialist…?” He hesitated, meeting Maggie’s and Macy’s eyes. “Well-versed in apple…matters?”

Macy knew, etiquette aside, Harry did have a point. “Why us?” she asked Earl. Without so much as a word, the older man poked his rugged Timberland boot at the burlap sack, which tumbled to the ground, causing several apples to spill forth.

Maggie, Macy, and Harry gasped.

_The apples were blue._

_A neon, phosphorescent, glowing blue._

_Each and every one of them._

“Shit,” breathed Maggie.

“It’s certainly very prominent,” Harry couldn’t help but remark, reaching out to touch one of the fallen fruit with a tentative forefinger. He peered up at Earl. “Was this a new development?” he asked just as casually as if he were remarking on the day’s weather.

The farmer hesitated. “Not sure. I woke up one day to pick ‘em and they were all blue. We’re organic, see, and we can’t have people thinking otherwise. It’d be bad press—" He sighed, staring at the manor’s ceiling, wiping away a tear. “This orchard’s been in my family for centuries. I can’t start over—it’s all I got—” his voice shook with emotion.

“We’ll—we’ll pay a site visit,” Macy spoke up as Maggie and Harry glanced at her at the same time. “When’s the best time?”

Earl’s shoulders relaxed and a slow smile spread above his jawline. “A week from today?”

“We’ll be there.”

_Next Saturday Afternoon, Mid-September, Front Alcove, Vera Manor_

“…Toiletries?” Maggie read the list off her phone as Macy re-examined her luggage.

“Check.”

“Glamour powder?”

“Check.”

“Glamour powder setting?”

“Matching color-coordinated sweater weather—so yeah, check,” Macy sighed. _Was this really necessary? Surely Harry and she could’ve just worn their run-of-the-mill outfits…_

“Awesome. It’s important to blend in,” Maggie pronounced, as if reading Macy’s mind. “Wouldn’t want people seeing you two in your usuals, wondering what you’re really doing at an apple farm, now would we?”

Macy sucked in a breath. “Guess not,” she answered, altogether wondering what was wrong with wearing her usual green-and-black striped blouse and skinny jeans.

Harry orbed to their side in the next minute, his duffel bag at the ready. “Shall we?” he extended an arm to Macy, who took it.

“Are you sure you can hold down the fort?” Macy always worried about her youngest sister, forced to grow up far too early. Maggie nodded, anticipating having the entire manor to herself… _and Jordan_. Mel had been working undercover with a separate coven in the past few weeks and was barely ever home. If she was, she was usually hidden in her bedroom sleeping, or whatever she did these days. Maggie was never fully sure.

“Have fun you two!” Maggie grinned delightedly at the couple before her, her shoulders uplifted in their telltale pose as they orbed away.

_Late Afternoon, Vermont-100 Highway_

The plan had been to orb to a remote rental car facility in Montpelier, then for Macy to drive the most scenic route possible to équinoxe. It wouldn’t do if they orbed directly, since most of the state was spread out in a wide swath of open countryside. They risked being spotted from any and all angles.

“I find driving on the right side of the road _utterly_ barbaric,” Harry airily remarked as he unfolded and spread out a large U.S. state map of Vermont, inadvertently whacking Macy in the face as she swatted the paper away, determined to keep her eyes on the road in front of her. Driving in a rural location such as this meant encountering areas of great splendor and beauty…not to mention semi-nonexistent cell reception in various inconvenient-spaced areas.

Several more minutes passed. With each crinkle of the map, Macy’s right eye began twitching ever-so-slightly, a nervous habit. The crumpling grew in volume until, her hands clenched on the steering wheel, she hissed, “can’t you be a little more quiet?”

“Sorry—” Harry’s muffled voice could be heard behind the map, which he folded up and placed back into his duffel bag. “My crisps bag,” he revealed a bag of Zapps potato chips. “Salt and vinegar—$2 for the lot,” appearing pleased with himself for the effort.

Macy gave him a serious side-eye. “That’s _not_ a bargain.”

“Oh, but the bag, look here, it’s quite big, it really is—” Harry hastened to reassure her, displaying the foiled packaging near the topmost tip of the steering wheel as she swatted it away.

“Harry, I’m driving—” she rolled her eyes. While usually endearing, his banter could distract her, blocking her from being the normally-conscientious driver she nearly always was. As if on impulse, she reached for the radio dial, causing alt-rock to be heard at a sensible, non-ear-shattering volume. A song came on that she recognized from her childhood days when Dexter would drive her to primary school, and which Harry was now bopping his head to, not to mention thrumming his fingers against the base of the car window.

_I like that you’re broken/broken like me…_

“Sorry love—” he uttered, noticing that his own nervous habits were threatening the peace in the compact vehicle driven by his beloved. “Nervous habit. What’s this song?”

_I like that you’re lonely/lonely like me…_

“Broken, by lovelytheband,” Macy replied as they veered off the highway interchange to a local road, making another turn onto Barrows, then Luce Hill.

The scenery around them evolved, transforming bit-by-bit to open countryside—a veritable elegant quilted patchwork of cultivated farmland, vineyards, and orchards, with the faintest silhouette of the Green Mountains looming in the distance that gave the state its moniker. They passed what appeared to be a scenic lake, followed by someone’s backyard pond surrounded by verdant forest, after which was followed by a series of crimson covered wood bridges that reminded Macy of New England calendar photos she had seen back in Hilltowne’s laboratory bulletin board way back in the day.

“Lovely, the band,” agreed Harry. “But what’s the name of the band, love? The lyrics are a bit of a downer, but quite apt—”

_I could be lonely with you…_

Macy sighed. This was going to be a very long car ride.


	2. A Vermontian Ambiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Macy remembers Marisol, and Harry is there to catch her when she falls.

2 A Vermontian Ambiance

_Same Afternoon, Cape Cod Road, Stowe, Vermont_

Harry was beginning to learn a great deal about Macy.

She didn’t like being distracted on the road.

She liked barbecue-flavored crisps, but it depended on her mood, subject to change without notice.

She didn’t like being asked “where are we,” ten times in the span of just as many minutes.

“Where are—” he chewed the inside of his mouth, remembering Macy’s latest threat to hex him into oblivion if he so much as thought the question.

“ _We’re here.”_ Macy swerved onto an unpaved path lined on either side with miniature apple trees, their fruit a sparkling vermillion.

“Here?” he inquired in confusion, as the road before them appeared to twist this way and that, with no building in sight. Just dense evergreen forestry as far as the eye could see. “Where is _here,_ exactly?” he couldn’t help but ask, craning his neck to try seeing above the towering bushes, knowing all the while his efforts were in vain.

“Here, as in _here,”_ Macy replied as she continued steering, the boxwood brambles melting away as a decent-sized aesthetically-pleasing house appeared in the distance, surrounded by the mountainside on its opposite end.

Harry surveyed the abrupt change in scenery. “Here as in…” he paused, “ _équinoxe_?”

“The one and only. 1234 Mountain Road.” The house, as their car pulled into the parking lot, appeared far larger up close. Perhaps it was the way the architects designed the outward dimensions, spacing the expansive glass windows apart enough to portray small-town coziness. Macy wasn’t quite sure; she also noticed, in the distance, a series of smaller replica cabins, plus a curiously dark marble-grey one whose door was a bright ruby red. _Those must be the guest lodges, specially built to create the quintessential Autumn Equinox experience_ , she imagined.

Harry made as though to open the car door but Macy used her telekinesis to lock the both of them in.

“ _Mace?”_

She held up Maggie’s glamour potion from earlier. “ _Sweater Weather_ ,” it read in her youngest sister’s exquisite cursive, honed over the past months due to her writing countless sorority event invitations and letters to prospective members. “Same exercise as before—”

“Right-o,” responded Harry as he watched her pop open the lid, offering him a pinch before taking an equal amount above her head as to be fully doused in the substance.

 _Five Minutes Later, Parking Lot,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

A whirl of crimson, amber, and gold glitter engulfed the pair for a minute or so, then cleared itself of its own accord as the pair stepped out of the vehicle and retrieved their luggage.

“How do I look?” Macy smoothed her shirt, which she noticed had turned from an olive color to a cherry red-white-forest green plaid flannel long-sleeved form-fitting blouse, its topmost buttons undone to reveal the barest hint of her cleavage beneath. Her black leggings had morphed into dry-washed skinny jeans, and she noticed she was wearing a pair of mocha-colored leather knee-high boots that definitely weren’t there before. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that her natural lip gloss color had deepened into a sultry burgundy, coupled with hints of shimmering gold eyeshadow.

“ _Wonderful,”_ breathed Harry, who she noticed was staring rather deeply at her upper chest, himself sporting the same plaid-printed color with denim jeans and a pearl-white woolen sweater to top off the entire ensemble.

_What if he were to reach forward, just once, and touch her sumptuous, melanin orbs in broad daylight? Encircle her rotund globes and pinch their dusky centers? Would she smack his hand, thinking him impudent, or would she pull him closer into a sordid embrace against the rental car, snogging themselves into oblivion while he grew hard within the confines of his breeches?_

“Not so bad yourself,” the corners of Macy’s mouth twitched into a smile as she drank in his image from top to bottom, jolting Harry back to reality. “Just—”

“What?” he glanced at his reflection in the car window, smoothing his hair.

“Look a little bit less…” she tried to search for the word. “Harmless?”

“Duly noted,” as he turned toward her with an earnest attempt at a sultry gaze, momentarily halting her in her tracks. “ _What?”_ he noticed her eyes cloud with an undefinable darkness as she uttered the briefest of gasps. “You’ve seen something—what is it?”

She shook her head, hoping in vain it wouldn’t have to come to this. “Just a flashback. Your Darklighter was very…seductive,” she professed reluctantly as Harry’s fists clenched.

_Her memory flickered to the moment her eyes fluttered and closed as his outstretched hand caressed her visage, causing her to shiver in the fast-enveloping darkness while she shed her thin silk sweater to expose her naked arms, her buxom self pulled toward him as if transfixed—drawn toward the danger he represented by an order of magnitude above her own magical abilities—_

“I’m sorry—” she stammered as she pulled at the sides of her naturally-untucked plaid shirt, which was apparently the style wherever they were headed to, resort-wise.

“Don’t be,” he responded abruptly. “I’m sorry I didn’t do enough earlier—”

“But he’s gone, and we’re here,” Macy moved toward his form, and for once, he didn’t push her away. “And I’m on an adventure with you. There’s nowhere I’d rather be. You know that, right?”

Harry sighed. _It wasn’t her fault._ “Yes, love. I’m fully aware—"

 _4 pm, Parking Lot to Main Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“Dr. Vaughn! Mr. Greenwood!” The pair’s heads swiveled toward the lodge’s front entrance, where a familiar older man stood. _Earl Nox, in the flesh._ He strode toward the pair, taking their luggage in both of his burly arms.

“Are you sure? We can carry them both,” Macy’s breath puffed in tiny clouds in the crisp cool air, as they trailed after him into the lodge, which they immediately noticed was even larger than it initially appeared on the outside, with the roaring warmth of a crackling fireplace at their left, floor-to-ceiling hybrid French doors directly ahead, along with a bevy of cozy sofas and recliners and what appeared to be a cocktail minibar-turned-reception area. Glancing upward, Macy noticed the detailed countryside woodwork—white stripes of paint alternated with slabs of vintage timber.

 _And was that a grand piano in the corner?_ Macy stared in admiration, noticing a raven-and-blue-haired figure playing a song that sounded familiar. It took her some seconds before realizing she’d heard the tune before—Arlissa’s song, “Healing.”

Meanwhile, Harry couldn’t help but notice a tiny bonfire past the French doors and what appeared to be a set of compact marble picnic tables with stringed lights and blown-glass sconces, wondering what date night would look like in a resort such as this.

Placing their bags on the floor, Earl turned around and studied them both. “You’re dressed perfectly for the weather,” he said, relieved he wouldn’t have to direct them to the nearest clothing boutique or the outlet mall, which meant crossing state borders. “Why don’t you make yourselves comfortable while I check you two in?”

Harry and Macy nodded, then looked at each other, their mirthful eyes positively glowing with delight at having surpassed expectations as Earl offered them each a cup of warm spiked cider.

Sipping the concoction by the fireplace, Macy couldn’t help but wonder…

_Were their rosy visages a result of Vermontian ambiance, or courtesy of Maggie’s powder?_

_It was impossible to tell._

_And neither of them were complaining._

_4:30 pm, Stoweflake Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Once their papers were processed and everything was signed (Earl offered a 50% discount for their investigative services, which Harry and Macy accepted), Harry and Macy followed Earl past a series of small pale sand-colored cottages before landing at the smoke-grey lodge she recalled seeing earlier, with the vermillion-hued door.

The interior was breathtaking in a sinister-yet-elegant way. The walls had the same dark miasmic hue, Macy noticed, as she examined each room, beginning with the foyer, where the three now stood. The sofa reminded her of an oaken bunk bed with the top removed entirely, the side ladder substituted for a makeshift faux vintage bookshelf in a sumptuous high-end style that went beyond the likes of Pottery Barn. A round marble coffee table and a cushioned stool added a bit of color, along with a crimson plaid-printed futon that reminded Macy of Scottish kilts in “The Outlander” series she occasionally binge-watched.

She pretended to listen to Earl as he gave directions and logistical details to the pair, but Harry, understanding her attention was elsewhere, waved her off with a smile. _Go explore, love. I’ll handle this._

_And so she passed them, her fingers running along the corridor walls as if to detect a semblance of magic._

While she didn’t sense any mystical activity, she was nevertheless in awe of her surroundings. The bedroom had oaken wall-to-wall banisters that reminded her of photos of Shakespearean-style cottages in England; the circular four-paned window above the king-sized bed reminded her of Vera Manor’s attic window, though the shape was somewhat different.

_There was one bed._

That should not have surprised her—they were a couple, were they not? But domesticity took some getting used to, especially with their previous history of drama, mostly due to magical circumstances beyond their control, not to mention their own previously repressed emotions. Macy admired the fabric layout as she traversed the length of the bedroom.

The bedspread was a velveteen Chardonnay plaid with crisp white bedsheets, and silver velour pillows that matched the overall color palette. She noticed a brushed-steel dresser on the opposite side nearest two windows, and imagined what it would be like if, one morning, she were to sit atop it as Harry—

Earl’s voice rang out once more, interrupting her thoughts. She returned to the foyer. “Once you two settle in, you can come down to the Main Lodge to participate in the activities and investigate whenever you’re ready.”

Harry appeared confused. “Er, _activities?”_

Earl chuckled. “Sweater weather lovey-dovey photos outside the barn, chestnut-picking in the forest, and examining the blue apples. For the investigating, I mean.”

“Oh. _Right. Right you are,”_ Harry’s cheeks turned faintly pink as he contemplated taking his first selfie outside a barn with Macy. _Was it a selfie if they were in public? And if a professional photographer was involved?_

 _When was a selfie not a selfie?_ He and Macy each took a key to the lodge from Earl, who they politely thanked and showed out the door. _Perhaps I’m overthinking things,_ he finally decided as he turned around to unpack his duffel bag.

 _5 pm, Barn to Tree,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“It’s such a bummer they closed the orchard!” A slender blond woman with an engagement ring the size of Everest exclaimed, her other hand grasping a flute of Honeycrisp apple-infused white wine, created a couple of years before. “It’s _so_ beautiful, my fiancé proposed to me there—” she wagged her left ring finger in Macy’s general direction as the latter forced a smile.

“That’s—that’s great,” Macy stammered.

“You married?” The woman nodded in Harry’s general direction.

“Um, no, we’re colleagues,” she replied as the woman looked scandalized. “Uh—I should go search for some hot cocoa—" Macy muttered as she made a quick getaway to stand beneath an apple tree several meters away, which like the trees leading up to the lodge, appeared normal (not blue, unlike what Earl had said of the orchard itself). From a distance, she noticed that the crowd of twelve or so were honeymooners, babymooners (she spotted a couple of women with very prominent midsections), and other besotted couples—and a child or two—

Touching the apple tree, she gasped—

_Her tiny, chubby hands held a fistful of orange-and-crimson foliage as she sat in front of a barn, perched atop a bale of hay, which caused her to sneeze, her tiny mahogany curls whirling about. “Bless you, darling,” a voice rang out. It was Marisol, younger, her porcelain skin unlined and pristine as ever, dark tresses cascading upon her shoulders as her husband watched, his arm draped protectively around her shoulder as she forced a smile, feigning happy spirits, knowing that two months from that very day, she would never see her little girl again—_

“Macy!” She opened her eyes and found herself in Harry’s arms beneath the apple tree. “Mace, are you alright?”

She shuddered and blinked once, then twice more and nodded slowly. _What the hell?_

“You saw something—” It wasn’t a question. “Tell me.”

Macy inhaled sharply as she balanced herself on her own two feet, gazing at the people in line for their seasonal photos, utterly oblivious as to what just transpired. “I saw Marisol.”

“ _Here?”_ Harry appeared concerned. Macy reflected on her vision of the past.

_It was all so confusing._

“Not now, but—years ago. She had my photo taken here, decades ago when I was a baby,” she hesitated then forged ahead, “a couple of months before she left. Forever. One of those dislodged memories, I guess—”

Macy glanced into Harry’s eyes, noticing how the grey flashed to a deep obsidian, as he rapidly blinked. “Oh Mace,” he murmured, alternately kissing and cradling her curls, “I’m so sorry. We don’t have to do this—”

She shook her head. “We have to. If not us, then who? I can’t sleep knowing there’s someone out there contaminating produce and destroying people’s lives.”

Harry sighed, knowing Macy had a point, even amidst the bittersweet nature of it all. “Me neither.”

They stared ahead in silence as she contemplated her next move.

 _5:30 pm, Tree to Barn,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“I’m ready to go back,” Macy’s voice was as clear as day; Harry turned to her in surprise.

“Are you sure?” His eyes met hers, full of endearment and sympathy. She nodded. “Mace—” he reached for her arm just as she was about to depart, and she turned to him. “Mace, listen to me. Before we go take photos together, think of the happiest memory you have—channel that.”

Macy smiled. “That’s easy,” she murmured, tucking a stray lock of chestnut hair behind Harry’s ear.

“The moment you stepped into Vera Manor?” Harry guessed of his charge-turned-more.

She shook her head, curls whirling as she laughed aloud—a delightful sound. “No, Harry—it’s the time I convinced you to take a picture with me in your burgundy sweater—”

“Really, that old thing?” His eyes squinted, his mouth crinkling in the most adorable fashion, altogether incredulous.

Macy nodded. “It was the first time Vera Manor felt cozy—like I wasn’t a stranger anymore.”

“Why, might I ask?” Due to ensuing Parker drama, Harry had forgotten to do his own laundry if he recalled correctly. The burgundy sweater was the only clean piece of clothing he had when Maggie cornered Macy and himself for an impromptu photo in Vera Manor Garden that day. Macy hadn’t even had time to put her ceramic mustard-colored coffee cup down.

“Because you made it so,” she answered simply, kissing him on the cheek.

Holding hands, they walked back to the barn, the sound of Melanija Paradis’ cover of One Direction’s “Story of My Life” wafting through the autumnal breeze.


	3. Under the Chestnut Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Macy doesn't like chestnut-picking. Harry changes her mind. Also, Harry doesn't know what s'mores are.

3 Under the Chestnut Tree

 _6 pm, The Brambles,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Once the barn photography had taken place, Harry and Macy ducked behind the barn and orbed to the nearby forest for the next activity, chestnut-picking. For whatever reason, they were the only two there—Macy reread the pamphlet she had taken from the reception desk and regarded the unmarked path before her.

Apparently, most if not all of the couples preferred to do nut-picking in the early afternoon, no doubt to achieve the perfect snapshots, Instagram filter and all. Macy rolled her eyes and kicked at what appeared to be a stray burr on the ground, which stuck stubbornly to her leather boot.

_What the—?_

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Harry stifling a laugh. “What’s so funny?” she demanded. He shook his head as he bit his lip, trying to regain a sense of propriety about his charge.

“I gather you’ve never been chestnut-picking before?”

Macy shook her head, imagining the smooth-shelled oak-striated nuts she commonly saw at her local grocery store, wondering where on earth the nuts were on the gnarled trees lined as far as she could see, the surrounding mountains looming in the distance.

“First of all,” Harry added, brandishing two pairs of thick gloves, “you’re going to need a pair of these.”

 _6:10 pm, The Brambles,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Everything she knew about picking nuts was a lie.

Not, of course, that she knew much at all to begin with. Macy now understood that chestnut-picking was a bit of a misnomer. One did not simply climb a scraggly ancient tree, its branches resembling something out of Scar’s lair, to pluck the fruit for one’s enjoyment within seconds or even minutes.

_Oh, no, no, no. Quite the contrary._

Chestnut-picking involved holding a miniature vintage burlap sack, while wearing eagle-handling gloves, carefully plucking spiny burrs with half-inch thorns off the earth. Sometimes if one was lucky, the burr would be partly cracked open, revealing the smoothness of the autumn nut inside. However, looks were deceiving. Even if partly open, the burr could be rigid after days on the ground, which Macy found out rather unpleasantly.

“ _Ow!”_ she yelped as Harry, on instinct, placed her tapered finger in his lips to ward away the pain, sucking the tiniest droplet of blood away with the flicker of his tongue, his eyes remaining fixed on her visage.

“Love, are you alright?” he asked in a low voice. Macy shuddered due to the sudden needle-like pain; after a couple of minutes passed, she nodded, her voice steadying as the pain slowly began to disappear. Harry tucked a stray curl behind Macy’s ear and kissed her forehead. “I could heal it the usual way?” he asked, examining her finger again, noticing that a miniscule cut remained.

“N-no Harry,” she whispered, pulling him closer as their backs made contact with the nearest chestnut tree, its uneven bark digging into the small of her back. “I definitely prefer this method.”

“Oh you do, do you?” His eyes flashed obsidian as they shared a stolen kiss in the solitude of the dense, fast-darkening forest, Macy moaning hotly into his ear, her back setting off wanton friction against the rough-hewn bark as Harry’s hand wove its way up her shirt to grasp at her orbs, flicking her nubs as she arched her back, moaning as he licked them through her blouse’s fabric. “If I recall correctly, love, you’ve been working on a shield spell as of late?” He felt her nod as he continued his steady attentions upon her sumptuous curves.

“Yes, Harry.” _He loved it when she said his name._ “Invisibility and noise-blocking—”

“ _Good girl,”_ he grinned, tossing his hair with a wave of his head as he seized her hips with both hands, pulling her closer to feel just _how_ badly he needed her. “Say it—say the words, love—” he murmured, his lips ensconced within the nest of her warm mahogany curls.

“ _Invisibilia silentibus_ ,” she uttered breathlessly. For a minute, everything seemed as per usual, then a cool breeze emanated forth from her lips, giving the odd sensation of a metal sword cutting through the air, offering a protective, secretive layer separating themselves from the rest of the woodland greenery.

 _6:20 pm, The Brambles,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Streaks of vermillion and amber-gold decorated the sun-setting sky, the Instagrammability of which Macy and Harry were completely oblivious. Their bodies intertwined as before, their matching flannel shirts and denim jeans hastily tossed aside in a tangled heap at their feet.

If she recalled correctly from her period app, Macy was exactly twenty-four hours away from starting her menstrual cycle; her chest had become swollen in anticipation of her hormonal decline—progesterone and estrogen to be exact, her stomach equal parts bloated and knotted with tension, her lower body aching for release—

_And in a single passing glance, she knew that Harry had deduced as much._

Suddenly self-conscious, she sniffed her lower shoulder. _Could he smell her? Did she smell…bad?_

As if reading her thoughts, Harry made a barely perceptible shake of his head. “You’re not the only one with a period app, love. Helps predict your moods…lets me figure out when to pamper you—”

“Oh, is _that_ so, Mr. Greenwood?” Macy saucily replied, altogether impressed. “I do _love_ a man who takes initiative—”

“Duly noted—” Harry gasped, grasping her curls, yanking her hair so that her lips instantly touched his once more, with an added thrust of his own, his stiffness along her thigh, yearning for the warmth of her _within_. Rather than his usual calligraphic motions that would have had her instantly writhing upon him, he knew her body was changing cyclically, becoming more sensitive to his very touch; he had always had a deep reverence for the female body.

 _6:22 pm, The Brambles,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“Please, Harry—” Macy pleaded in his ear as he continued grinding against her body, astride the chestnut tree. “I want— _no—_ I _need—”_ as Harry aligned himself mere centimeters, then millimeters outside her folds.

“ _What is it you need?”_ he whispered in a low growl, knowing that his presence upon her upper thigh was causing her to moisten with desire.

“You—I need you,” she gasped, “ _—now.”_

His eyes grew smoldering as he plunged within her; enveloped in her warmth, he paused to savor the heady sensation…

 _6:24 pm, The Brambles,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“Oh—” whispered Macy, her legs beginning to buckle; sensing this, Harry picked her up so that she straddled his muscular form, as he continued to pound his soul into every smoothened portion of her crevice within. Her breath fell upon his ear as his movements grew faster, less controlled, his breathing growing more ragged by the second.

“ _Fuck…”_ he growled, his hands gripping her hips with an a heretofore unseen ferocity. “Mace, I’m going to—”

She dug her fingernails into his upper shoulders as he emptied himself into her.

 _9 pm, Main Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

After a cozy fireside dinner of _steak frites_ , the pair found themselves staring out through the glass French doors to the marble table and miniature bonfire, all surrounded by a bevy of beautiful stringed lights, petite versions of the tealights at Vera Manor. Harry noticed a small crowd of people roasting what appeared to be one-by-one-inch-diameter cylindrical pillowy confections that appeared to turn a caramel brown once heated _en feu_. He took notice of brown crackers and what appeared to be dark slabs of— _charcoal? Chocolate?_

Macy observed his thought process as he continued gazing at the hyggelig scene before him and stood, beckoning him to take her hand. “Let’s take a look,” she smiled as he did so; they walked through the glass doors to the now-chilly outdoors.

 _9:10 pm, Lodge Garden,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“Mace, would you like my sweater?” Harry noticed that his charge was shivering, her curls positively vibrating atop her frigid form all the while. She shook her head, but he raised his eyebrow, leading her to reconsider.

“Ok, sure, I’ll take it,” she replied as he removed his garment and handed it to her; putting it on, she was secretly happy that she could wear something of Harry’s that had his scent imbued within its threads. “Mmmm,” she sniffed at the collar. “You smell nice, Mr. Greenwood.”

He blushed, not being accustomed to such sweet affectations in the company of strangers—the general public—and ended up changing the subject entirely. “Dr. Vaughn,” he murmured in her ear. “Would you mind telling me what these kind people are doing?”

Macy frowned, staring at the marshmallows on sticks and back at Harry. “They’re making s’mores…” She paused, realizing of course that s’mores were an altogether American campfire dessert. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a s’more before?”

“Some more of what?” Harry tilted his head, genuinely puzzled.

 _“You’re killin’ me, Smalls,”_ she muttered under her breath, referencing a movie from her childhood in which one boy introduced a new neighbor child to the same sweet treat. “Basically, you take a marshmallow,” she grabbed two sticks and two marshmallows, gesturing for him to place his marshmallow on his stick as she did hers. “You roast it like this—” she demonstrated her technique, placing the white morsel above the flame, “and wait for it to turn a golden brown.”

 _9:15 pm, Lodge Garden,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“Then what do I do?” Harry jolted Macy out of her silent contemplative thoughts as she continued to stare at the flickering flames dancing along the edges of the iron-plated bonfire.

“Oh? Oh—right,” she said. “Um, hold this—” she gave him her stick with her freshly-roasted marshmallow as she reached nearby for a couple of graham crackers, which she broke into four total pieces. She also grabbed a couple of miniature slabs of chocolate. “You put the chocolate between the crackers, and put the marshmallow inside,” which she did once Harry handed her the stick back. “Mine’s done—now you try.”

He proceeded to do so with an impressive amount of dexterity. _How was it possible he hadn’t gotten his fingers sticky with saccharine residue in the process?_ Macy wondered.

“How did I do?”

“Quite well, Mr. Greenwood, quite well.” They bit into their s’mores as Harry pulled her closer, giving her a sticky kiss on the cheek as she giggled.

 _10 pm, Stoweflake Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Bedtime came early for Vermontians, that much was certain, the pair saw as lights flickered off in the twilight. Brushing their teeth in front of the bathroom mirror, Macy was still cold from earlier, so Harry handed her a hoodie he had obtained years before.

 _Keep Calm and Let Harry Handle It,_ the hoodie read.

“Very appropriate for a Whitelighter,” she mused aloud, her eyes twinkling.

Harry’s mouth twitched as if he were deciding how much to tell her, before finally giving in. “Hilltowne University had a faculty prize contest. Just for fun. Years ago. And I won.”

“What kind of contest _was_ this?” Macy couldn’t help but ask.

Harry smiled. “A baking contest. I made toffee chocolate chip cookies with a hint of espresso. It was very popular.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was,” Macy answered, visualizing Harry in a tight apron, a chef’s hat, and a saucy grin, as they walked toward the large bed. She hesitated for several seconds; they had never shared a bed other than…the dusty attic? Her bedroom that one time or two? “Er…which side do you want?” she asked.

“This side,” Harry responded surprisingly quickly, choosing the portion of the bed closest to the bedroom awning and the rest of the lodge.

“Why?” Macy angled her head to figure out his reasoning.

“If an intruder comes, I’ll be your first line of defense. My duty as your Whitelighter—” he began. “And as your… _boyfriend._ ”

“Oh?” Macy bit her lip flirtatiously. “Is this where we are?”

“If you don’t want to be—” Harry hastened to correct himself in case he had misread things, but Macy cut him off, for which he was glad.

“I want to be. And we most certainly _are_ ,” she murmured as she used her telekinesis to turn off the lights, crawling under the bedsheets beside him. “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Macy.”


	4. The Blue Orchard Armistice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Macy and Harry explore the blue apple orchard; Macy's on day 1 of her menstrual cycle and rather cranky.

4 The Blue Orchard Armistice

_It was her turn and hers alone, she realized as she encountered the ornately dressed figure whose hands held a wide silver basin filled with dark pomegranate-red ceremonial wine._

_“Both hands,” the words boomed. Macy glanced at her hands, then back at the basin—_

_“Now.”_

_Taking a deep breath, her arms shaking, she placed both of her downturned palms into the silver bowl, touching its shallow bottom, expecting to be struck down by the gods in the first second—and when that did not happen, found herself reveling in the coolness of the precious, nonviscous substance, as a phantom crowd surrounded her from a distance in a queue that wound past the barn and as far back as the Green Mountains._

_Tasting the wine was never an option._

_She was the sacrifice—_

_A magical, bloodless sacrifice—_

_6 am, Stoweflake Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

She awoke, bolting upright, her breath panting in the cool pre-dawn air. Harry was curled up at her side, blinking slowly as he realized his charge had suddenly awoken.

“Macy—” he began. “Are you alright?”

She felt a thin stream of crimson begin from her core. “I-I just started my period—” she breathed.

Harry sat up. “Do you need anything—a pad? A…tampon?” Macy shook her head.

“I’m wearing one already. Because, y’know,” she shrugged. “Just in case.”

_It was just a dream._

_Right?_

_8 am, The Apple Orchard,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

After a fortifying breakfast of hot peppermint tea and toast topped with crème de marron (chestnut spread from yesterday’s chestnut-picking)—Macy couldn’t help but suggestively lift her eyebrows as Harry nearly choked on his toast recalling _exactly_ where they had been the afternoon before—they ducked behind the building and orbed directly to the adjoining apple orchard, currently barricaded on all sides by tight plastic tarp.

She took the tiny bottle of glamour powder from her denim pocket to add a pinch more above her and Harry’s heads, noticing the powder layer nearest the mouth of the bottle a bright granny-apple green. _“Apple orchard style,”_ she whispered, sprinkling the powder as they found themselves engulfed in a cloud of billowing smoke once more.

 _8:05 am, The Apple Orchard,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Macy noticed she now wore a long mustard-colored sweater dress and a deep marmalade-hued scarf coupled with navy skinny jeans, whereas Harry wore a thick grey woolen scarf, a burgundy pullover, and matching navy jeans. She bit her lip, looking Harry up and down. “Burgundy looks good on you, Mr. Greenwood.”

“Oh? Well, mustard certainly suits your gorgeous complexion, love. Shall we?” He offered her his arm as they began a morning stroll and investigation about the glowing blue-colored apples, rows-upon-rows of them.

As they passed the first line of apples and then the next, Macy realized this was the first time she had gone apple-picking in recent history (going as a toddler didn’t count, she thought, since her ability to form memories back then was questionable from a behavioral-biological perspective).

_Did this count as actual apple-picking? If part of a magical investigation? And if the apples were blue?_

_And apple-picking with one’s boyfriend often constituted a date. Was an investigatory outing with one’s Whitelighter boyfriend a date?_

Macy sighed. Being undercover could be so confusing sometimes.

 _9:10 am, The Apple Orchard,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

After a walk around the apple orchard, the pair doubled back to measure the color gradient. Did some rows have darker shades of the neon blue? Brighter shades? Using Macy’s phone camera, it appeared that each and every apple of every which row was colored exactly the same degree of hue.

_How odd._

That ruled out a chemical spill. Through a cursory internet search, Macy found that a pharmaceutical company manufacturing a certain blue pill oft used by men for…bedtime activities…had recently set up shop less than fifteen miles away. However, there had been no factory mishaps in recent history. If there had been, (if there had been a coverup), the residue would have been evenly distributed in certain areas, but more concentrated toward the direction of the source.

_Alas, factory cause it was not._

Another theory, posited by Harry, was that an offshoot of black amber took hold beneath the barn in the past quarter-year, thereby wreaking havoc on the apple crop. While this could have been the case, why hadn’t the front driveway’s miniature apple trees been affected? How could black amber suddenly have taken hold out of the blue? Growing it was a delicate decades-long process, as Macy recalled from her knowledge of Seattle’s underground Command Center.

And even if black amber were the culprit, how on earth could Macy and Harry intrude further on their host, asking that he destroy his barn by virtue of uprooting the entire soil beneath, all for a haphazard theory?

_Black amber: possible, but definitely not probable._

They had been careful not to touch any of the blue apples, but Macy broke away from Harry’s hand to explore a tree larger than the rest, that appeared in the distance. Encircling its trunk, she touched its bark, noticing its gnarls and various knobbled whorls. Glancing upward, she noticed that the apples on this tree were just as blue but far higher, atop elevated branches that swung lazily in the crisp autumn breeze. Just then, an apple broke away from its dried branch—

“MACE, LOOK OUT!” Harry tried to orb there in time, but it was too late; the apple fell swiftly, hitting Macy in the forehead as her form crumpled into his arms.

_She looked around the field, noticing most of the apple trees had vanished except for the one she stood nearest to. Crowds of people—warlocks and witches, perhaps—gathered near for what she recognized as an autumnal celebration. The equinox, for what other festivity could there possibly be, given the directionality of the lunar cycle at this very hour?_

_Marisol, dressed in white, took hold of others’ hands as Dexter stood at a distance with a wriggling toddler. Herself, much younger, Macy realized with a jolt. To Dexter’s left was a much-younger Alistair and a kindergarten-age boy who appeared to be kicking the woman’s stomach next to him._

_“Please, sweetie,” the demure woman whispered with a regional British accent. “Don’t kick your sibling—"_

_Parker? No, Macy realized, her eyes narrowed. If she were younger than two, then—_

_Hunter._

_Even as a child, he was a jackass._

_Suddenly, Hunter took a running leap from behind and attempted to choke the British woman, interrupting the Elder’s circle. Other supplicants came near and made to move Alistair and Hunter outside the orchard grounds as Alistair loudly protested—_

_“He’s just a boisterous boy!” When he realized he and his son were still being restrained, he began talking in a louder voice. “This armistice is OVER!” His visage darkened. “One day,” he snarled as he was pulled to the edge of the orchard. “One day, your fertile crimson field will become blue, and only a Charmed One’s blood will cure this malady to start the season anew,” as Marisol’s visage noticeably blanched—_

“MACY!”

 _9:30 am, The Apple Orchard,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

She blinked slowly as she came to in Harry’s arms as he swept away—a tear? “Is it you?”

Harry chuckled shakily as he wove a stray curl around his fingers, kissing her forehead in turn. “Who else would it be?” She sat up, her hands touching the dirt-strewn ground, noticing that Harry had moved her several meters away from the errant apple tree.

“Harry,” she spoke after a few minutes of silence, watching the mountains in the distance. “I think I know why the apples are blue.”

 _10 am, The Apple Orchard,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“Wait, so Alistair wanted to stop fighting?” Harry asked incredulously, not for the first time. Macy nodded.

“My guess is he had a small child—Hunter—at the time, his girlfriend was pregnant with the A-word—”

“ _Abigael,_ you mean?” clarified Harry.

“Yes,” Macy sniffed. “ _Her._ Anyways,” she continued, “Alistair probably realized everyone else had small children whom they were extremely protective of, and wanted a temporary cease-fire until said children were old enough to be of use.”

“Why’s that?” Harry frowned. “I mean, if your mortal enemy has children, wouldn’t you—”

“I know,” Macy responded, her brow furrowed as she made connections between her theories amidst the swirling thoughts permeating her brain. “My guess is his pregnant girlfriend changed his perspective. If he waited until everyone’s kids were older, alliances could be fortified—he could get a sense of his enemy’s weaknesses and strengths—and he could in turn protect Hunter.”

“So really, we owe our lives to Abigael?” Harry’s eyes glittered with mirth as Macy gave him an “oh-no-you-didn’t” look. “I kid, I kid!” he exclaimed as Macy picked up a nearby blue apple with her telekinesis, hovering it dangerously high over his head for the barest of seconds, before chucking it toward the base of the mountainside.

“Back then, maybe we did,” Macy grudgingly admitted, staring past the flying neon blue apple before turning back to face Harry. “Seems Alistair put a curse on the orchard. I’m guessing—guessing, mind you—that the armistice enchantment went through, so Alistair couldn’t take that back. He could, however, insert a loophole of his own. That if all else failed and he didn’t get what he wanted, the crop would be wrecked, destroying a piece of the farming community and decimating the local economy in the process.”

“He wanted to go out with a bang?” Harry tilted his head, deep in thought. _This sounded plausible enough._

Macy nodded. “And he wanted to take a Charmed One down with him too.”

 _2 pm, Main Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

After their sojourn in the apple orchard followed by a nap, Harry and Macy orbed back to the Main Lodge’s coat closet, exiting discreetly as they made their way to the piano lounge area, where they could hear Melanija Paradis playing a cover of Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance With Somebody.” A slow song, suitable for dancing, which is exactly what they did, surrounded on all sides by eight other couples who thought the very same.

_Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody…_

As Harry twirled Macy, her mustard-yellow sweater, scarf and all as she fell back into his pine-scented arms, she began to speak. “Harry,” she murmured into the folds of his grey scarf. “I’m sorry…”

He cradled her curls gently. “Why, love?” he whispered, as they continued to dance.

“For bringing you into my world of secrets and complications,” Macy uttered, without missing a beat.

_With somebody who loves me…_

“I didn’t choose to be a Whitelighter, or to be assigned to your family—”

“I know—”

“But I chose _you_ , Macy Vaughn. Secrets, complications, and all. And there’s no one I’d rather be with, solving this mystery together,” concluded Harry as they glided across the floor, holding hands all the while. “Let me in, love, and we can defeat the darkness together.”

 _3:30 pm, Main Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

The more she thought about it, the more incensed she became. _First, losing her mother at an early age. Later, her father. Galvin. And now, she had to…die? What would become of her sisters and Harry? What was she, a fucking sacrificial lamb?_

Her stomach in knots as she waited for her Midol to kick in, she sipped a cup of piping hot ginger tea, nibbling every-so-often on a set of liverwurst-and-cucumber sandwiches Harry specially ordered off the menu. No doubt due to his extensive women’s studies research, he had found that pork liver contained a high amount of iron that would counteract her monthly blood loss, preventing menstrual migraines and lord knew what else.

_Her mood swings however, were another thing entirely._

Harry anxiously regarded his charge, whose fists were balled up at present. “Love…?” he inquired, trying his hardest not to overstep, wishing he’d stopped by that one fudge shop down route 100 to pick up a slab of dark chocolate to satiate his beloved. “Mace?” He noticed she was gone from the sofa upon which she sat and felt a sense of uneasy dread.

_Where had she gone?_

Just then, he spotted her curvaceous figure clear across the room, making a beeline for none other than Melanija Paradis, musician and storyteller, who by all appearances was currently sipping a nonalcoholic orange-berry spritzer while sitting atop a sleek barstool, her wavy raven-blue hair tied in a ponytail.

 _“You,”_ Macy hissed, pointing directly at Melanija as the latter woman flinched, her drink tumbling to the floor.


	5. The Reticent Raconteur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melanija explains to Macy a loophole in the armistice curse. Harry's conflicted in *all* of the ways.

5 The Reticent Raconteur

 _3:39 pm, Furthest Stall, Women’s Restroom,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

If Melanija were ever to meet Dr. Macy Vaughn in person, she had planned to ask the scientist about her work on magizoology, mystical nanoparticles, and recombinant DNA. Perhaps they would have exchanged pleasantries (or Melanija would have muttered them, as shy as she typically was around scholarly celebrities). At worst, she would have stared a minute too long at Macy and Harry’s visages before turning beet red and tucking into her fruit salad and avocado toast, scribbling rapidly into her “Adventure Awaits” notebook printed with a world map, sprinkled with a myriad of multicolored floral prints, for her next story idea about the dynamic power couple.

Whatever the storyteller (or narrator, or raconteur, call her what you will) imagined, she never thought in a million years she would find herself hiding in a bathroom stall after running away like the dickens, wishing the earth would swallow her whole.

Breathing shakily and checking her purse to ensure her notebook was still there, she paused to listen for any incoming intruders.

_She didn’t ask for this to happen—but then again—neither had Macy._

_A Few Minutes Earlier, Main Lodge Barstool to Corridor,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

As she stared at Macy’s fast-growing positively volcanic pupils, the storyteller’s fight-or-flight response kicked in.

 _Run,_ her brain instructed with a sudden urgency.

So she did, leaping over the broken glass of her mocktail drink as she sped through the crowded kitchen a doorway away, Macy giving chase as they passed a bevy of chefs carrying maple-scented cakes and various hors-d’oeuvres as the raven-blue-haired lady exited in the back, turned a corner, and entered the large carpeted corridor of the VIP rooms. Turning yet another corner, Melanija dove into the women’s restroom, its brassy door banging shut behind her as she locked herself in the furthest stall to gather her thoughts.

Macy raced through the start of the VIP corridor and was about to turn a corner when—all of a sudden—

_She found herself secured to the adjoining ornate, crown-molding, cream-colored wall by none other than her Whitelighter._

“Harry!” She grunted and fought to escape his hold, but she was no match for his musculature. “Let. Me. Go!” She pointed around the bend. “She’s getting away!”

“Mace—” he began in a low voice, which Macy couldn’t hear as she continued to wrestle in his grasp.

“MACY!” he all but bellowed, pinning one arm against the wall, holding her visage in the other so she was forced to look at him. _Was he talking to her as a Whitelighter…or her boyfriend…or both?_ She swallowed hard, imagining where else his hands would take him, roving through her curls, his hips bucking as she cried aloud at the feeling—

“Mace,” he said in a gentler tone as he stroked her chin, interrupting her somewhat sordid thoughts, “you’re scaring her,” as their heads swiveled toward the women’s restroom where they heard the tiniest trace of a sniffle.

“I just wanted to talk—” she pleaded, her menstrual medication finally kicking in.

“Love, she doesn’t know that,” Harry continued, quieter this time. “She knows you have enough telekinesis in your pinkie to obliterate her and her entire family. And you accosted _her_. _The storyteller._ Bloody hell, that’s unprecedented. Can you blame her for running?” Macy sighed and shook her head.

 _3:39 pm, Corridor,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“Where’re you off to?” he noticed her smooth her clothes as he loosened his grip.

“Apologize,” she answered with a slight turn of her head, gesturing to the bathroom as Harry smiled.

“ _That’s my girl_.”

“And Harry?” The silhouette of Macy’s curves made themselves known vis-à-vis an edgewise light sconce.

“Let’s continue this wall-to-wall… _discussion_ another time?”

Harry grinned. “Yes, _let’s_.”

 _3:42 pm, Furthest Stall, Women’s Restroom,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

After counting slowly to twenty and backwards, Macy slowly pushed the brass fixture of the bathroom door open, gently shutting it behind her. Doing a once-over of her surroundings, filled with identical pale porcelain sinks, mirrors, and subtle nods to Vermont (maple-scented soap and apple cinnamon potpourri), she noticed the bathroom was deserted save for one occupied stall.

“ _Melanija?”_ Macy whispered, inching cautiously toward the stall, attempting to sound calmer this time around. She didn’t hear a response, but continued nonetheless. “Sorry I startled you—I’m not this confrontational, I swear. I guess…” her voice trailed off as she chose her words carefully. “I guess—I just wanted to talk. Openly and honestly, I mean. A literary commentary if you will. From the protagonist’s point of view. I need to understand why—” her eyes skimmed over the identical sinks, immaculately scrubbed.

“After Galvin died, and after finding Harry, why your blood sacrifice?” A small clear voice emanated from behind the shut stall.

Macy blinked rapidly and nodded. “Yes. I’ve been through so much—”

“And you don’t know how much more you can take—”

Macy sucked her breath in sharply. “Exactly—”

“I know.”

 _3:45 pm, Furthest Stall, Women’s Restroom,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“The armistice curse.” It wasn’t a question.

Macy sighed. _Even oracles gave more information._ “What about it?”

“There’s a loophole.” The stall door swung open as Melanija walked out, staring straight at Macy through the mirror in front of them. The petite woman gathered a paper towel, using it to open the door. “I’m a germophobe,” she said by way of explanation as Macy followed her back to the fireside lounge, both spritzing antibacterial solution onto their hands from a nearby dispenser.

 _4 pm, Fireside, Main Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“I prefer,” Melanija said in her soft voice as she brushed aside a stray lock of raven-blue hair, “to think of the armistice curse as more of…a prophecy,” she told the pair seated before her on an identical canvas-colored sofa set nearest the fireplace, drinks in hand.

“It calls for a Charmed One’s blood,” Macy murmured, staring into her drink. “Knowing Alistair’s brutality, that means death. _My_ death—"

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Melanija replied airily. “And I assume you’ve heard of blood magic? Being, y’know, a witch and all?” as Harry and Macy stared at each other, an idea occurring to the latter in particular who had what Melanija termed ‘a lightbulb moment.’

“Ohhhhhh…” Macy’s face dawned with realization of what she had to do. Or, more precisely, what she and Harry had to do— _are you thinking what I’m thinking?_ Melanija smiled sphynx-like, nodding subtly as she sipped her own non-alcoholic beverage. Given Melanija’s line of work, she always had to keep her wits about her.

“People always forget that as tyrannical a demon as Alistair was, he was crap at witch’s blood magic,” Melanija added after a time, as Harry continued to appear puzzled, looking from Macy to Melanija and back again.

“Would you ladies mind informing me as to exactly what’s going on? And what I must do?”

Macy and Melanija both bit their respective lips and burst into laughter.

“Harry, I’ll explain later—” Macy discreetly hissed as Harry raised an eyebrow. _Ok then…?_

 _4:10 pm, Fireside, Main Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“So, why Vermont?” Harry couldn’t help but ask Melanija, as their conversation turned a bit more casual.

“I enjoy vacationing up north, seeing the foliage, taking side gigs that take me where the wind blows. And all that.”

“What’s the weirdest job you’ve ever had?” Macy asked one last question.

Melanija smiled to herself. _This was an easy one._ “I made $200 playing the piano for a community group fashion show for a couple hours. And all the prints were various shades of—” she shuddered. “ _Limeade,”_ as Macy and Harry had a chuckle.

Just then, the storyteller rose. “Where’re you going?” Macy called out after the lady, who turned around with a tilt of her wavy locks.

“I have a job to do, and I’m still on the clock,” answered Melanija, who proceeded across the expansive lodge interior to the grand piano in the corner, where she began playing “Novocaine” by the artist group entitled “The Unlikely Candidates.”

 _4:15 pm, Fireside, Main Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“What exactly do I need to do?” Harry asked again as Macy blushed deeper than he could recall in recent history. She reached over, whispering in his ear as his eyes grew wide in disbelief.

“But-But—” he shook his head.

“ _It’s the only way._ ” Macy knew this for certain. It wasn’t an accident they were here during Autumn Equinox, nor was it a coincidence she had been here decades before with Marisol, Dexter, Hunter, Alistair, and the fetal A-word. And blood from a Charmed One could come from various avenues… _or an already-existing orifice._ “You know that as well as I do. Melanija knows it too, or she wouldn’t look nearly so calm.”

“True,” admitted Harry, staring around the room to ensure they weren’t being overheard.

“So what’s the problem then?” Macy arched an eyebrow with a tilt of her head as Harry looked back at her.

“I…” he paused, trying to think of a way to best put this into words. “I’m a…virgin.”

Now it was Macy’s turn to giggle. “Harry, no you’re most certainly not—” as she thought of the last time he’d pinned her against her bedroom wall, pulling her lips into a heady kiss, and then more, recalling how Vera Manor vibrated with enough seductive energy to power at least a hundred nightclubs. Not to mention their chestnut-picking adventure as of late.

His cheeks colored. “ _You know what I mean_ —” he hissed. “I-I’ve never—”

“Gotten your red wings?” Macy completed his sentence as he nodded resignedly.

“Yes, well, _that—_ ”

“During a blood magic ritual—”

Harry sighed. “Y-Yes. _That too—”_

“Well,” Macy remarked, reaching out to stroke his chestnut locks as he slowly closed his eyes, savoring her languorous touch. “There’s always a first time, isn’t there?”

 _6 pm, Grocery Store, 10 miles from_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Less than two hours later, Harry found himself standing in line with Macy near the register as he went through his mental checklist once more.

_Dark towels—check, flashlights with batteries included—check, (more) Midol—check, fancy dark chocolate—check, peppermint teabags—check, thermos—check…_

“Oh, aren’t _you_ a gentleman?” The elderly cashier regarded Harry over her pince-nez bifocals, as she rang up the various items, most of which appeared to be for the lady beside him.

Macy grinned and hugged Harry closer. “He’s the best.”


	6. Red Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets his red wings. Note: allegories and heavy references to intimacy & menstruation. Note that the dreamscape acts as alternate dimension foreshadowing of my other written Hacy works (OLT&L, OG&S, MCOF).

6 Red Wings

 _11 pm, Stoweflake Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

 _That goes…there?_ Harry noticeably winced as he continued to peruse his incognito mode stash of Reddit literature on topics such as “my girlfriend’s period” and “intimate relations.”

The blood magic spell he and Macy were trying in exactly an hour went counter to any and all medical training he’d had during World War II. Staunch the flow of blood, he was always instructed. Create a tourniquet. Avoid blood loss. Keep the extremities at a normal body temperature. Prevent sepsis and anemia. _And all that._

He sighed.

This might be pleasant for Macy, but it certainly wasn’t going to be a walk in the park for him.

 _11:30 pm, Stoweflake Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

_Dark towels—check, flashlights with batteries included—check, (more) Midol—check, fancy dark chocolate—check, peppermint teabags—check, thermos—check…_

By all outward appearances, he and his girlfriend were about to go on an intimate midnight picnic to celebrate the Autumnal Equinox, hot tea, sweets aplenty. Just like any other mortal couple. _Was this the fall equivalent of summertime skinny-dipping?_ He wished he knew.

 _11:45 pm, Stoweflake Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

He gasped from the plaid sofa as he spotted Macy exiting the bedroom wearing a tight black dress that accentuated every single ounce of her exquisite curvature. The plan had been to orb directly to the tarp-barricaded apple orchard, lay out a couple of dark towels, do the deed, chant a spell, and orb back and enjoy some dark chocolate and peppermint tea. Perhaps an extra tablet of Midol, if Macy was feeling particularly pained. They’d decided to forego the flashlights entirely.

_Even in his head it sounded rather bizarre._

“Something wrong?” Harry, jolted out of his thoughts, shook his head as if dazed.

“No, nothing’s wrong,” he murmured, approaching and hugging her from behind, his broad hands migrating from her hot, swollen abdomen upward to the edges of her plump, rounded orbs—

“Harry!” she giggled, covering his hands in her own as he searched her eyes questioningly. “Save that for the orchard.”

He harrumphed. “ _Very well.”_

 _11:55 pm, Apple Orchard,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

They arrived right on schedule, facing the gently-swaying trees laden with eerie glowing neon blue _pommes_. Laying a couple of dark towels upon the soft September soil inches from one of the _arbres_ , Harry looked askance at Macy, whose pupils, even in the dark abyss, appeared to be dilating even more by the second. “How does this work, exactly?” he asked, trying to sound adventurous or otherwise intrepid, all the while knowing his girlfriend could see straight through his act.

“First,” Macy whispered as she crept closer, straddling his seated form, his back flush with the tree bark, “you tell me to create a silencing shield—” as the pair’s lips met, their mouths gradually opening so that their tongues became one with the other in a silent semblance of foreplay, Harry’s arms beckoning her closer above the fabric of his denim jeans, his hands deep within the sway of her thick, flowing curls.

 _“Do it,”_ Harry whispered in her ear as he alternately bit and sucked at the most sensitive part of her neck, causing her to gasp and thrust herself forward even more so.

“What’s the magic word?” Even in the gloomy miasma of endless shadow, he could detect the faintest hint of a smirk, as he responded with a slap on her shapely _derri_ _ère_ , which echoed throughout the abandoned orchard.

“I do believe it’s _‘please,’_ Dr. Vaughn,” he murmured as he felt his denimwear grow more oppressive by the minute, drawing Macy’s hand forward to see what her body had done to him.

 _11:57 pm, Apple Orchard,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“ _Invisibilia silentibus—"_ she gasped as she felt an icy knife-like force emanate outward, creating the tell-tale sound-proof protective shield, aware of his stiffening length beneath her tapered fingers, as her core began to pulsate, causing her to stifle a groan.

“Are you ok?” Harry expressed concern as he felt her nod her head, kissing his fingers as she took one and began to suck on it with all her might, before he covered her hand in his. “Love,” he paused, unsure of where to even begin. “ _Tell me what to do.”_

She exhaled shakily. “Help me,” she uttered, and he did, removing her garment entirely as she lifted his cotton shirt above his head and unzipped his fly as he shook his pants off, which landed in an undisclosed location.

 _11:58 pm, Apple Orchard,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“Tell me how,” he whispered uncertainly, as he felt a pleasant tingle in his spine migrate downward, settling in his nether regions as she finally removed her underwear.

_Oh, yes. Goodness—yes._

Much to his own surprise, as the clouds parted and the moon shone luminous in the sky, the appearance of crimson did nothing to deter him, bare as they both were, down to the very tips of their toes.

_In fact, it reawakened something…primal…within him._

From his independent research, he understood that her body parts from her abdomen below were engorged, swollen, teeming with humid viscosity, positively swimming with ardent tension, not to mention sore, sensitive musculature in severe, desperate need of relief.

 _May I?_ He showed her two fingers, demonstrating silently what he was about to do. She nodded.

“I-I trust you, Harry.”

Upon hearing those words, he dipped his two fingers into her already-moistened slit, moving them about in a come-hither motion as her mouth became a rounded O-shape, her thighs tightening around his arm as he felt her involuntarily clench. He paused—

Instantly, her glaring eyes met his, her hand covering his arm, nails digging into the softness of his alabaster skin.

_Keep._

_Going._

Harry attempted to steady his now-trembling self. _Was it possible to be terrified and simultaneously turned on?_ But he shook those thoughts away as he regarded his beloved, seeking to ease her monthly agonies as best as he very well could.

_Ok, then._

His fingers snaked deeper into her folds, as he sensed an extra layer of lubricant within that caused him to gasp. Wanting more, and even _more_ still, his digits plunged into the thickened, throbbing chaos of her very purse, his pace accelerating with each second as he heard her utter a loud moan indicating relief.

 _11:59 pm, Apple Orchard,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Pulling his fingers out, he carefully wiped them on the darkened towel.

 _Are you ok?_ He glanced over at Macy, who nodded resolutely as if to say, _let’s do this._

“Show me how,” he murmured as he pulled her close, noticing trickles of her darkened essence exiting her folds. He wondered—was he on the bottom? That meant more flow would end up exiting her, to him, and everything surrounding. On top meant less of her substance converging and a more comfortable experience potentially, coupled with sufficient amounts to power the blood magic ritual if she remembered to sit up and/or stand afterwards.

 _Midnight, Apple Orchard,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

If she was going to do a blood magic ritual, after everything she had endured thus far, she was going to be comfortable at the very least. That much she knew for certain, as she motioned for Harry to be atop her.

_Now._

They silently recited Sinclair’s “Supernova Superstar” lyrics as the ritual began. There were no specific enchantments, but from what Macy had researched, the more eclectic, the better.

_Sweet madness is in the air/La folie douce est dans l'air…_

His length encircled her folds, then plunged itself inward as they both gasped at the sensation—

_I move away from the earth/Je m'éloigne de la terre…_

_A sultry summer morning surrounded by cinnamon, cardamom pods, and palm trees, acknowledging the warmth of its interior, and the flow and swell of the sordid humidity within—_

_The current runs through my shoulders/Le courant parcoure mes épaules…_

He groaned headlong as he continued to thrust, encouraged by his lover’s tightly hewn embrace. The heat was overpowering— _where had this been all his life?_ If he had known what this felt like, he would have attempted it a hundred-fold—

_Blood in my head/Du sang dans ma tête…_

_A hidden rendez-vous within a locked Portuguese ballroom, pulling her flowing damask skirt above her hips to make room for his—_

Images continued to flash before their heads— _alternate dimensions?_ They hadn’t the faintest clue, nor did they care, as they continued their heady movements, the usual punctuated staccato replaced by metallic, acidic fluidity that was neither here nor there.

_In orbit I go to you/En orbite allez à toi…_

_A Norwegian sauna, her nails raking his back, as he tasted the clouds of steam engulfing and overwhelming them both as she poured a ladle of piping-hot water over her orbs—_

Catapulting through their hallucinatory dreamscape, they tumbled to the elegant darkness of the tilled midnight soil once more, his soul thrumming within the scorch of her own, as he sensed a familiar pull and pulsation, and within her, a yin-yang effervescent vibrating of oil and water, creating a mystical, cataclysmic friction that sent her past the edge as she let out a scream—

_The energy goes up in a flash/L'énergie monte en un éclair—_

As he roared, spilling into her, completing the ritual.

_Supernova superstar._

_12:15 am, Apple Orchard,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

She curled up within his arms as they continued to bask in their afterglow, gazing up at the constellations of stars overhead. Minutes passed until Harry finally spoke. “What if—” he ventured slowly as Macy peered over at him. “What if this doesn’t work?”

“I think it will,” she stated. “And if it doesn’t, worst case scenario is borrowing Earl’s washer to do an extra load of laundry.”

He chuckled at that. “Right, then.” Glancing around, he made as if to grab his clothes, donning his cotton shirt as Macy scrambled for a fresh sanitary napkin, her undergarment, and her black dress. “Ready to return?”

“Y-yes,” she replied shivering, now realizing just how cold it was outside. In an effort to speed along the ritual’s results, they made a mutual decision to leave the dark towels at the foot of the tree, hoping that they would see transformative results the next morning.

 _12:20 am, Stoweflake Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Landing swiftly in front of the plaid sofa, Macy gasped as she spotted Harry’s cotton shirt, which looked as though he’d gotten mauled by a tiger. “I’m sorry—” she winced, but Harry reached over and kissed her.

“Nothing we haven’t seen before,” he said with a twinkle of his eye. “I can wash it off. In the shower. Care to join?” He extended a hand and she took it, grinning all the while.

“Oh Harry,” she purred, caressing his chestnut locks as he closed his eyes, savoring her very touch. “You’ve finally got your red wings.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics for magic ritual are from French song "Supernova Superstar" by Sinclair


	7. Morning Mirror Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry (finally) takes Macy on a nice date. The next morning, she wants to investigate the mirror...and Harry.

7 Morning Mirror Investigation

 _7 am, Apple Orchard,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

As soon as they were awake, they orbed to the orchard, tearing the tarp as they examined every piece of fruit as far as the eye could see—

_Glossy, pristine, crimson apples, perfect in every way._

They gave a start as they heard a holler from a distance. _Earl_. The farmer jogged forth in a canter to meet the pair, beaming all the while. “Y’all did it!”

Harry blushed. “As a matter of speaking—”

“We did our duty—” Macy interjected. Earl’s eyes scanned the orchard before them from left to right, diagonal and center. Every bit of blue had vanished.

“What’s that?” Earl spoke suddenly, pointing at what Harry recognized as his own jeans, left behind the night before. “And why’re there bits of red—”

“Ritual sacrifice,” Macy piped up, pinching Harry to keep quiet. “Appease the gods I guess,” to which Earl chuckled.

“Looks like you certainly have!” Earl replied. He made as though to return to the barn before turning around once more. “I’m so grateful to you both—whatever you did—”

“Glad to be of service,” Harry managed to say.

“Care to join me for brunch at the lodge?” Earl proposed a celebratory meal.

Harry and Macy glanced at each other then nodded. “Sure, just give us time to wrap things up and we’ll be there,” Macy called out as Earl grinned and departed.

 _7:10 am, Apple Orchard,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“Ritual sacrifice?” Harry made a face as he picked up his jeans, Macy blushing ever-so-slightly.

“It was the first thing I could think of…” her voice trailed off. “Technically speaking, blood _was_ shed—”

“In a ritual—” Harry continued, catching on as he threw her a cheeky smile, seizing her hand and swinging her around as she laughed aloud. _Clever witch._

 _Noon, Main Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Breakfast with Earl was a pleasant experience, as he jovially regaled Harry and Macy with tall tales of ghosts and farming anecdotes and everything else in between. To their mutual surprise, Earl had been a consultant who returned to the family business after the death of a relative and had known enough of agriculture to take over.

It had been a tad awkward bumping into Melanija after breakfast as the raven-blue-haired lady walked to the piano, her cheeks turning a bright cherry red, knowing exactly what the two were up to the night before. “Um,” she whispered, her eyes not quite meeting Harry’s and Macy’s, “great job with, uh, y’know…”

“Wasn’t as scary as I thought it’d be,” Harry piped up to Macy’s and Melanija’s surprise. “It was quite well choreographed, actually—” he added as an afterthought as Macy pulled him back to their breakfast table, and onward to Stoweflake Lodge.

 _12:20 pm, En Route to Stoweflake Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“ _What?”_ he turned to Macy. “I was just being honest—” Macy couldn’t help but laugh. “I’d do it again,” he furtively glanced at her as her own toes curled ever-so-slightly in her high leather boots.

“Oh you would, _would you?”_ she playfully bumped his shoulder as they walked hand-in-hand past the other nondescript timber cottages to their own, further down in the distance in the thick of the evergreen forest. He did the same, inadvertently bumping her a bit harder so that she tripped—but landed straight into his arms as he dipped her low and kissed her soundly on the lips.

“Excellent catch, Mr. Greenwood—”

“The pleasure is all mine,” he whispered as he drew her back on her feet. “And speaking of pleasure, I do believe I owe you a date night…”

 _Two Nights Later, Stoweflake Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

She’d agreed to a night out once her cycle abated, once she felt less bloated, less tense, less prone to digging into Harry’s bag of crisps, along with the dark chocolate and peppermint tea he’d bought earlier. Surveying herself in the bedroom mirror, her sleeveless outfit fitting her like a glove, she breathed a sigh of relief that her abdomen was less swollen than before, and her water retention levels were at an all-time low.

“I do _so_ love that red dress on you,” a low voice murmured from the doorway. She bit her lip, suppressing a grin.

“I know. That’s why I wear it,” she replied as he hugged her from behind, sweeping away her curls to plant a kiss just below her ear. “Shall we?” She turned to him just as his arms began swimming down her back, a glazed expression on his face—

“S-Sorry?” he stuttered, his hand creeping downward in the general direction of her behind as he suppressed a groan. _If only he could reach a couple more inches and grasp her full, sumptuous—oh gods, yes—_

“Dinner reservations, Harry, the _dinner_ reservations—" Macy began, tilting her head slightly. “Or have you forgotten?”

“R-right,” breathed Harry, as he halted his ministrations, albeit reluctantly. “Right, the dinner—” he sighed. “The dinner reservations.”

“ _Patience, young Padawan,”_ she murmured in his ear as they orbed into the chestnut grove nearest the Main Lodge.

 _8:30 pm, Outdoor Garden, Main Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Juicy hamburgers fresh from the grill appeared on the marble table before them, crispy and sizzling. Harry’s was topped with gobs of melted Gruyère, Macy’s with extra pickles, sliced thin deli-style just as she’d requested, with a topping of spicy vegan soyrizo alongside smoked dairy-free cheddar substitute.

Harry watched as Macy held her burger, its drippings falling atop her platter as she took a bite then another, licking her lips every so often, as he neatly sliced his with a steel knife and fork, cloth napkin at the ready, chuckling lightly.

“What?” Macy looked up at his amused expression.

“Nothing,” he answered, a nondescript response, quintessentially him, that drove her up the wall to no end. 

“Do I have a bit of soyrizo on my chin? Is that it?” She peered warily at her reflection from the pristine steel knife that lay beside her own plate. He shook his head. Macy rolled her eyes. “Spill, Greenwood. You’re making me self-conscious.”

“I was just thinking…”

“…Thinking?” _Come on, Harry, get on with it!_ Macy said to herself, her hands still poised on either side of her burger.

“That we’re from two very different worlds, with…” he paused, drawing a forkful of hamburger meat to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“With…?”

“Absolutely nothing in common—” Macy gave him a rather harsh side-eye. “Nothing at the outset, I mean, love—” he hurriedly clarified his statement. “But somehow the universe brought us together, two lost and lonely souls—”

Macy inhaled sharply. “I’d hardly call myself lonely, with two younger sisters constantly hogging the upstairs bathroom—”

“Mace, you know what I mean—”

“As for lost—” she spoke again as Harry held his breath. “You’re right,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Being an orphan, no matter how old you are, in a new city all alone at first, definitely makes one feel lost…but then you found me, Harry.”

He breathed a sigh of relief, that despite his occasional clumsiness with the English language, she still knew enough of him to understand his heart was in the right place. “Yes, love, and I you,” as he reached over to clasp her hand, squeezing it once, twice, then three times, his unspoken _I love you_ hanging in the air.

 _9 pm, Outdoor Garden, Main Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Ambient piano music continued to filter through the nearby Bluetooth speaker; one piece in particular reminded Macy of a YouTube music video of Sunny and Veil from “Into the Badlands” with full orchestral accompaniment, which Melanija had somehow heard, written down, and put to piano purely by improvisational means.

_Ivan Torrent’s “Glimmer of Hope.”_

The F Major stampeding chords representative of adrenaline-infused adventure and swash-buckling sword-fighting seemed at odds with the evening’s mellow vibe, but somehow, everything seemed to make sense, converging in an altogether strange and beautiful way.

The next song was a cover of “Moon River,” from Audrey Hepburn’s “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” film from decades ago. After the staff had collected their dishes, Macy felt a tap on her arm. “Would you care to dance?” Harry offered her his hand and she took it as they walked the short distance to the makeshift dance floor beneath the glowing tea lights.

 _9:15 pm, Under the Tea Lights, Outdoor Garden, Main Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

As if in slow motion, her right hand clasped Harry’s left, her left hand encircling his shoulder as his right planted itself at her lower back—not too high as to suggest first-date status, and not so low as to attract comments of impropriety and indecency. Sensing this, Macy glanced at him. “You always do the right thing—”

He sighed. “I’m well aware—”

“But who knew you, Harry Greenwood, were such a romantic at heart?” Her visage was mere millimeters away as they gave each other Eskimo kisses, her nose rubbing his affectionately as they were oft wont to do.

Harry blinked, drinking in the vision of all that was beauty and sensual darkness before him. “Really? I had no idea—I just aim to please—”

“You always do,” Macy murmured in his ear as he stroked her luscious curls. “ _You always do_.”

 _Next Morning, 10 am, Bed, Stoweflake Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Macy checked her phone and gasped.

_10-freaking-am._

They only had—what—thirty minutes until check-out? Forty-five minutes? How on earth had they overslept? Then she remembered the evening before and how they had danced the night away, celebrating a case closed, before retiring to their bedroom, utterly zonked. Her lips pursed into a pouting expression.

_It was pointless._

_Foolish and pointless, really._

_But she really, really wanted to investigate the wall and that lovely mirror._

_With Harry._

_And now it was too late._

“Are you absolutely certain of that?” She gasped as she heard Harry, bare musculature and all, stir beneath the linen sheets beside her.

She couldn’t help but blush. “Shit, did I say that out loud?”

“Loud and perfectly clear, love,” he responded. _Did she detect the faintest hint of a smirk?_

Macy felt his hand move slowly along her leg, above her knee, to her upper thigh, settling upon her innermost folds, gasping aloud as he began dipping his finger, and another, into her, causing her to squirm in place as his movements quickened in pace.

_Fuck…that felt amazing._

“Don’t stop—” she whined as she felt him withdraw from her, leaving her hungry for more, as he swooped her up into his arms and stood, orbing immediately beneath the mirror.

 _“I wasn’t going to,”_ he answered, his eyes smoldering all the while, his grip on her firm and steady, his arousal fully present against her thigh as she shuddered, imagining it within her, once more.

 _10:05 am, Against the Mirror, Stoweflake Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

 _Sleeping in the nude with a strong, well-toned Whitelighter boyfriend had its perks,_ Macy couldn’t help but think, as she found herself pinned against the mirror, her behind perched on the staid, classy dresser, her sinewy legs wrapped tight around Harry, not for the first time that month. And hopefully not the last, either.

_For one, he knew what to do in case of a magical emergency._

_For another, given time constraints, he could orb and take care of their mutual…frustrations._

His feet firmly planted to the hardwood floor beneath them, his stiffness encircled the outer edges of her core, causing her to moisten all the more.

“Harry,” her hands snaked around his back, as she suppressed the urge to thrust.

Reaching forth to hold a bundle of curls, he bent low and hissed, “what’s the magic word?”

 _Oh, so we’re playing this game now?_ Macy grumbled as Harry’s eyes glittered, awaiting her answer.

 _10:06 am, Against the Mirror, Stoweflake Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

“I’m waiting, Dr. Vaughn—” Harry alternately kissed and bit her neck, hard enough to leave marks, but he couldn’t care less, especially at this particular moment.

_She._

_Is._

_Mine._

She gasped as he left another animalistic marker. She pictured herself facing the bathroom mirror hours later at Vera Manor, imagining the constellations he was leaving upon her bare physicality for the world to see. “P-please—” she cried breathlessly; he wasted no time, plunging into her core as they hissed at the slow sensation of fullness enveloping them both as she continued to thrust against him, the pair adopting a steady rhythm in what little time they had.

 _10:10 am, Against the Mirror, Stoweflake Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Beads of perspiration dotted his brow as he felt the familiar crest and ascending, causing him to delve deeper and deeper still into his beloved as she drew her nails in, talon-like, down his lower back, just the way he liked it.

“ _F-fuck, Macy, oh—oh my, I’m—”_ Harry was becoming more and more incoherent by the second, and she loved every minute of it. She raked her nails across his back a final time as he exploded within her, their cries of ecstasy intermingled in the other’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this "Into the Badlands" YouTube video: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=eQweXULlxnY


	8. Window to the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Macy enjoy brunch as storyteller-musician Melanija breaks the third wall, the fourth wall, heck...what even *is* a wall these days? Also, possible unnamed celebrity pup cameo.

8 Window to the World

 _Same Morning, 10:40 am, Main Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Harry sniffed the air about his and Macy’s café-style table, feet away from the French doors and its exquisite panoramic views of the nearby Green Mountain. Roast seeds of some sort, honey, and brown sugar? Whatever it was, it smelled absolutely _divine_ , he thought to himself. They had just handed over their lodge keys; Earl had carried their luggage to their car and was busy shepherding along a throng of guests who had been filming a popular television series in Vancouver.

To their surprise, Melanija brought out a pancake each for them. “Token of my gratitude,” she murmured. “A family recipe for celebrating the equinox—honey, sesame seeds, brown sugar, pancake mix—”

“Ah, I thought I detected brown sugar in the air!” Harry remarked as the pair, intrigued, cut into their breakfast.

“Wow!” Macy exclaimed after a forkful.

“It’s delicious, I must say—” added Harry, rolling a bite around, savoring its flavor upon his palate.

“Thanks,” the raven-blue-haired lady replied. “Anyways, gotta go—others are waiting—” as she scurried off into the kitchen to rinse her hands before completing a final piano piece.

Harry and Macy observed the Vancouver group from a socially appropriate distance; by the looks of it, it seemed to comprise a dedicated camera crew, personable makeup stylists, and who they believed to be the talented actors and actresses at the center of it all. Sipping her coffee, she couldn’t help but notice the tallest of the three women who sat upon a sofa, whose arms carried within them the most adorable teddy bear-like dog she had ever seen.

 _Aw,_ Macy thought, _the pup’s asleep—_

Apparently, its owner thought so too, carefully laying the creature upon the cushion next to her—only for the pup’s eyes to spring open as it jumped down from the sofa, darted across the room to Macy and Harry’s table, and was now tugging mercilessly at Harry’s own socks.

“Sorry!” panted the woman in a British accent, scooping up the wriggling canine in her arms, rhinestone cell phone in hand.

Harry raised an eyebrow, tilting his head just so. “Do I detect a Nottingham accent?” he couldn’t help but ask. The tall woman laughed and nodded as the dog leapt out of her arms, sprinting toward the hall.

“Pardon—just a mo’—Q—! Come back!” The woman chased after her pet as Harry turned back to Macy, drawing another forkful of pancake to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“She seems familiar,” he mused aloud. “Like we’ve been colleagues in another life…can’t quite put my finger on it…” as he watched one of the male actors perform an improvisational theater routine, as if he were going down a flight of stairs and back up again, where no stairs were present, only the hardwood floor.

“So does he…” Macy trailed off. “They seem like a lovely bunch.”

 _Noon, Main Lodge,_ _équinoxe, Stowe, Vermont_

Melanija returned sometime later to collect their dishes; Harry and Macy made a bit of small talk with the storyteller-musician. “What’s next, Melanija?” Macy asked the departing figure, as the lady swept a lock of blue hair behind her ear. Melanija turned around from where she stood, dishes and all, giving the pair a furtive glance; “I hope you’re both a fan of Daphne Du Maurier,” she whispered as she turned the corner and disappeared.

Once Melanija had gone, Macy turned to Harry. “What d’you think that’s about?” she bit her lip, thinking of the possibilities, good, angsty, impossible, or otherwise.

“Knowing Whumptober’s fast approaching in the fan world, it’s best not to think about it—” Harry remarked.

“Agreed.”


	9. Welcome to Halloween Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hacy returns home, catching Joggie unawares. Also, pumpkins, and random domestic bliss fluff. Enjoy!

9 Welcome to Halloween Home

_Same Day, 7 pm, Front Porch to Entryway, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

After returning the rental car and orbing to the front door of the ever-so-stately Vera Manor, Macy was eagerly anticipating a soothing, piping-hot bath in the upstairs tub, the volume turned low to Paganini’s Violin Concerto Number 1, and perhaps a star-shaped glittery bath bomb with enough turquoise shading to coat the entire porcelain interior blue. Ensuring they had all of their luggage with them, she made as if to unlock the door—and paused.

She turned back to Harry, motioning him over to the porch to observe the quiet, serene stillness of the surrounding neighborhood, post-sunset, before entering the cacophony within. The stars glimmered overhead as an owl or two hooted in the arbored distance, the post-equinox wind whistling through the swaying oak tree branches above them. “We came, we saw, we conquered—” she spoke softly as he drew nearer to her silhouette.

She could feel Harry’s kiss upon her forehead as he caressed her cheek with a broad forefinger. “That we did,” he murmured in a low voice. “How does it feel to be back?”

“Wonderful,” she replied blissfully, noticing that her shoulder muscles were far less tense than she could ever remember. In the next second, her stomach growled loudly, causing Harry to chuckle aloud.

“Dinner? Bolognese, perhaps?” he proposed.

“That would be _lovely_ ,” Macy replied. She noticed a couple of artfully-carved pumpkins that she knew with near-absolute certainty hadn’t been there before they left. _Where on earth had those come from?_ she wondered as she used her telekinesis to swing the front door open; in their collective exhaustion, they failed to notice a large pair of men’s-sized gym shoes in the entryway as Harry orbed their luggage upstairs.

_7:10 pm, Entryway, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Macy smelled something scrumptious simmering from a distance, and drew nearer to investigate, her feet padding softly on the dark wood floor toward the kitchen. _The Bolognese, perhaps? And how on earth had Harry managed to cook it up so fast?_

If she had listened closer, she would have heard a subtle sultry tune, akin to the Arlissa song she and Harry had danced to, in what felt like a lifetime ago. She heard a shuffling noise from the living room and approached its entryway, temporarily diverted from her original route. _It must have been her youngest sister’s doing, she was always so sweet and thoughtful._

“Maggie, you didn’t have to do all this—” Macy stopped short, staring straight toward the two figures who, by appearances alone, appeared to be canoodling—“Ohmygawd MAGGIE!” she screamed just as Harry orbed at her side, having heard the sudden commotion.

Maggie, in a state of semi-undress, abruptly broke her close-knit embrace with none other than Jordan Chase. “You guys were supposed to be gone till next week!” she all but shrieked, pulling her tank top back on, Harry covering his eyes as an act of modesty while Macy discreetly turned her gaze toward the nearby staircase.

“Mags, next week—as in today!”

“Oh. Oops,” Macy heard Maggie squeak.

“Um, look, I should probably go—” Jordan began, as he put his own t-shirt back on.

“No.” Harry spoke up, his eyes still covered. “Stay for dinner—you’re just as much part of the family as I.”

Jordan breathed a sigh of relief that Macy wasn’t using telekinesis to whack him on the head after getting caught doing all manner of things to her youngest sister, and was grateful for Harry’s words, unable to believe just how lucky he was to have found a beautiful lady to share his life with, not to mention her protective-but-nevertheless-welcoming family. “Harry, Macy, we’re—decent—you can face us now,” he said at last, once he and Maggie had rechecked themselves and their outfits.

In this moment, Macy recalled the old adage, that ‘every action has a reaction,’ as her own father had told her long ago, before she went off to boarding school every year, and to ‘always take the high road, no matter what.’ _Maggie’s a responsible adult, not a child,_ she realized. _I was in her shoes too. Once upon a time. And perhaps even more recently as this week,_ she mused to herself, feeling the dotted indentations and marks on her lower neck, biting her lip as memories of the past week flooded her brain. _Hickeys, courtesy of Harry, thankfully hidden by her thick, curly hair._ She hadn’t had enough time between them leaving Vermont and orbing here to freshen herself up—or to let Harry take a hand at healing them.

_But would she?_

She shook her head, laughing silently to herself. _Of course she wouldn’t._ Besides, she had more important matters to attend to. “Kitchen smells amazing, is it Spaghetti Bolognese?” Macy made a concerted effort to smooth over her earlier conversational interactions with her youngest sibling.

Maggie nodded. “Vegan-ish,” she clarified, rising with Jordan to accompany Harry and Macy to the kitchen, where indeed the pot was simmering, its sauce a delectable burgundy rouge. Next to it was a colander full of spaghetti noodles, cooked perfectly _al dente_.

“So sis,” Macy draped her arm around Maggie’s shoulder. “What’d I miss? Awesome pumpkin décor by the way,” she added. Maggie smiled, relieved to be free of judgment from her oldest sister.

“I should probably start from the very beginning,” she replied, as Harry began ladling out portions of the simmering sauce onto plates Jordan pulled from the nearby cabinetry. “Last week, while you two were solving the mystery of the blue orchard apples, Jordan and I were busy rehoming a lost seven-foot-tall antlered wendigo from the local organic pumpkin patch…”

\--THE END--


End file.
